


Wake Up Call

by EzRoar



Category: POKEMON Detective Pikachu (2019), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Harry-centric, This must be what it's like to wake in Pokemon Vegas, after you spend your Saturday night drinking, in Ryme City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22584112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EzRoar/pseuds/EzRoar
Summary: What happens after Harry and Pikachu separate. Harry wakes up, tired, groggy with the worst morning breath. At least, there's a nice, young man helping him out.
Relationships: Harry Goodman & Tim Goodman
Comments: 12
Kudos: 101





	1. Wake Up Call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChocolateSyrup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateSyrup/gifts).



> For [ChocolateSyrup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateSyrup/pseuds/ChocolateSyrup) whose Detective Pikachu fics I am thoroughly enjoying. I'm pretty sure that they, at one point in their fic, complained that there wasn't any new DP fics and I was like "That's rough, buddy" and proceeded to write this for them. 
> 
> I'm available for fic + art commissions as well, so feel free to contact me at ezroarfanworks@gmail.com

Everything blurred together. 

Colours, lights, sounds, they all merged together, creating a confusing haze that had Harry stumbling as he stood. Harry closed his eyes, if only to give himself some relief. But the sirens wailed, the chatter around him was confusing and calls of pokemon did nothing to help. 

It was only the thing holding him up that grounded Harry. A shoulder under his armpit and a hand at his back. A human? Harry took a deep breath, wincing when he smelled that cool air laced with noxious gas, and coughed rather raggedly, the motion shaking his skull. 

_“--okay?”_

Harry forced his eyes open, cringing at the invasion of light, and turned to the sound. His vision was blurry for only a second until it became sharper, and the features of Harry’s helper became visible. A young man, short curled hair, dark-skinned and wearing … Wait, was Harry’s jacket? What--

“You okay?” The young man asked.

When Harry tried to speak, his mouth tasted like morning breath. _Yuck._ “Ugh,” Harry grunted. “I feel like a car hit me.”

A nervous laugh. “Yeah … About that …”

What even was happening? Harry hadn’t the slightest. And Harry always prided himself on knowing what’s up. Being out of the loop like this intensified his nauseating sense of uneasiness. Harry leaned closer to the young man, without knowing why. But the young man didn’t seem to mind, apparently slowly guiding Harry somewhere. 

Harry looked down. The young man was carrying a bundle in his arms. Something small, soft, yellow. 

Pikachu. 

_Harry’s_ pikachu. 

The little creature was curled in the young man’s free hand, unconscious, bright fur slightly muted. The memories crashed into him like a Hydro Pump. Clifford. Mewtwo. The car being blasted off the bridge. 

A rush of adrenaline went through Harry, making him stand up straight, pushing the young man away from him.

_“Pikachu!”_

The young man held the small pokemon towards him. Harry took Pikachu into his hands, examining the little fluff ball, even as his legs wobbled. Pikachu was fine. Just unconscious. Relief flooded through his body. 

Oh, thank _Arceus_. Harry didn’t want to think about what would happen if Pikachu got badly hurt, or worse. He was a lonely, old man, and didn’t want to lose more people around him. 

Pikachu came to, slowly blinking awake. “Pika …”

“Hey, buddy,” Harry said raggedly. “You okay?”

“Chuu …” Pikachu curled into a ball, into Harry’s warmth.

Harry’s knees gave out, sending him to the ground. Well, he would have if the young man hadn’t caught him. 

“Gotcha!” The young man held Harry by the hips. “Aight, come on, let’s get you somewhere to sit.”

* * *

  
The young man was oddly helpful in all the chaos. He led Harry to a bench under a tree and then ran off to the convenience store across the street. Helpful as he was, his speech was a different matter, nervous and stilted, not knowing what to say to the detective. 

Harry ran a hand over Pikachu’s fur, the ‘mon snoozing quietly on Harry’s lap. He earned it. Apparently, _something_ happened in the Ryme City CBD and it was Howard Clifford’s fault, seeing as how his face was being blasted on all the big screens on the skyscrapers with the headline running **‘HOWARD CLIFFORD ARRESTED’**. People were embracing their pokemon and the panic and uneasiness in the air was so palpable you could _taste_ it. 

It didn’t take long for it to click that Howard actually went through with his insane plan to merge people with pokemon. And from what Harry was seeing around him, his plan didn’t stick. 

Still, it didn’t explain how Harry went from the car crash to Ryme City. 

The young man came back, jogging towards him with a plastic bag in hand. Now that Harry was a bit more coherent, he could take in the young man in greater detail. Harry could now confirm that, _yes_ , the young man was wearing his jacket, along with his Unknown shirt that he wore on his days off. The pants and shoes were not his, though. There were also signs of a struggle, a bruise forming around the young man’s right eye, split lips, and glass shards embedded in Harry’s jacket. 

But despite the young man being fishier than a magikarp in appearance, Harry felt … comforted (?) by the young man’s presence. 

The young man knelt down in front of Harry, opening up his plastic bag. He pulled out a water bottle, twisting the cap open and then handing it over to Harry. Harry wondered if the bottle was laced with something before deciding if the young man wanted to hurt him, he would probably have done so already, and took a swig of the bottle. 

Harry didn’t realise how thirsty he was until the cool liquid took his mouth and took in more than a few gulps to erase the dryness in his throat. 

When Harry set down the bottle, the young man was patiently waiting for him, a restore potion spray in hand. 

“May I?” The young man asked, gesturing to Pikachu.

Harry pressed his lips together, scrutinising the young man. He splayed his hand out to the young man. Strange sense of comfort and familiarity aside, Harry always had been cagey with who handled his Pikachu. “I’d like to look after my partner myself if you don’t mind.”

“Ah--” the young man froze awkwardly before dropping the spray onto Harry’s grip. “Yeah …” The young man stood up, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. 

It was therapeutic for Harry to be tending to Pikachu, spraying here and there. Eventually, the stressed lines creasing Pikachu’s face left, and he unconsciously snuggled closer to Harry. Harry smiled softly, giving his partner a soft ruffle on his head. He earned his rest.

Harry turned his attention back on the young man, who was looking out to the street, hands shoved in his pocket. 

This person was important somehow. The insistent feeling nagging at Harry did nothing to help his drowsiness. 

“So,” Harry said, catching the young man’s attention. The young man whizzed around, facing Harry. “I was wondering about the identity of my mysterious helper.”

A pause. “Oh! Do you remember anything?”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. Hmm, the young man was curious about his memory. “How much should I remember?”

The young man sighed, deflating with an emotion Harry couldn’t name. Disappointment? “To be fair, I wouldn’t blame you if you forgot everything.” Huh. _Why would that be?_ Harry thought dryly. “I’m Tim.”

The name took Harry by surprise. “Tim? Huh, weird.” He let out a stilted chuff of laughter and looked down to study the scuffed tips of his boots. “I got a kid named Tim. “Haven’t seen him in a while but y’know he’d look like you. Same age, same kinda features, same--” Harry stopped, staring wide-eyed at the young man. _“Tim?”_

Tim gave a wry smile. “Hi, Dad.”


	2. Bed Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I wasn't so happy with the last chapter because despite it being from Harry's point of view, it had nothing of Ryan Reynold's rapid fire jokes and bombastic flow that made Detective Pikachu iconic so I tried to emulate that ... to some success.

Look, Harry was thrilled to have Tim back, and he’d be attentive and fussing all over his son. The wounds and damaged clothes on Tim are setting off every paternal urge he has, which he will admit, he has been projecting onto Pikachu for the past few years, but here’s the thing --

Harry’s body was a goddamn traitor and, right now, he was putting more weight than he wants onto his son as they slowly make their way up the stairs to his apartment. Fatigue, nausea, and probably every other unpleasant feeling that Harry can’t name overwhelmed him an hour after his brief rest at the park. Hell, he even  _ vomited _ into the potted plant in the lobby, the landlord’s Treecko regarding him in clear disgust through the window he was stuck to. Both Tim and Hide wanted Harry to stay overnight at the hospital in a room Roger Clifford was all too happy to provide.

It was the white of tiles, the smell of hospital grade disinfectant, the  _ memories _ of his wife dying in a place like that that had Harry stubbornly refusing, making Tim call a cab, again provided by Roger Clifford, back to his complex. 

Harry didn’t want to know why Tim knew his way around the building right now. Too sick. He’ll think about it after he’s slept for a thousand years. 

Oh, and has Harry mentioned what an MVP his son is being right now, helping his old man up the stairs to his apartment door with one hand, and carrying his snoozing partner pokemon in the other? No. No, Harry hasn’t. 

Harry barely registered entering his apartment. There was the shuffling of paper beneath his feet. Looking down, there’s a sea of paper covering his apartment floor. Did he forget to clean up before he headed out to PCL to break Mewtwo out?

Something soft hit him. A bed. His bed. Harry groaned, melting into the soft mattress. He contently pressed his face against the pillow, letting a happy hum. Pikachu was gingerly placed next to him, Harry gently throwing his arm over the little guy. His tranquility only lasted a second before a tugging sensation at his feet became apparent. 

Tim was pulling his shoes off. Harry tried to sit up, tried to wave Tim away, but the kid wasn’t having any of it. 

“Ish okie,” Harry said as clearly as he could. “I can--”

“Nope. Bed for you.” Arceus, Tim sounded like his mother, all serious and nothing but business. Maybe that’s why she and Harry, with his rapid fire jokes and penchant for mayhem, worked so well together. Complete opposites but couldn’t work without the other. 

It would explain why it took Harry as long as it did to recover from her death. 

Harry let Tim take off his shoes and jacket. He was quiet as Tim removed his glasses, setting them on the bedside table. 

“Fanks …” Harry slurred. His mind starts to slip, becoming more and more clouded with Wooloo cotton. A steady hand guided him back to the bed, laying his head on the pillow. “‘Ey, Tim?”

“Yeah?” Tim’s voice sounded distant. Harry didn’t like that. He reached out blindly, managing to catch a wrist. 

“‘M glad ‘ou’re ‘ere …”

It’s the last thing Harry said before he fell into a fitful sleep. 

* * *

Tim waited a few seconds to make sure his dad was asleep before carefully detangling his dad’s grip from his wrist. His dad’s hand is rough, veins sticking out and calloused with years of work, so unlike Tim’s own hands, soft and weak.The older man looked younger in his sleep, not the haggard 49-year-old he saw earlier. Did he always look like this? With bags under his hair, grey sprouting around his scruff and the front of his hair? It’s been so long since Tim  _ looked _ at his father.

Tim tried to ignore the consequent guilty feeling swelling up inside him about why that’s the case (it’s his fault, all his fault; he’s always been a stupid, selfish brat). Instead, he focused on changing his father into something more comfortable for bed. He worked silently trying to locate his dad’s pajamas in the room and then putting it on his dad as efficiently as possible. 

Tim tucked Harry and his pikachu into bed, the blanket covering the both of them. If he were more kind and loving, he would have kissed the man on the forehead. But love has never been Tim’s speciality. So Tim padded his way out of the bedroom, careful to keep his steps light, and quietly shut the door behind him, hoping that the soft  _ click! _ didn’t disturb the two occupants inside. 


End file.
